


#19 (Misery Loves Company)

by honestys_easy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fulfillment #19: Matt/Megan, on, around, involving a piano. Jealous!Anoop can be thrown in. Or possibly Matt/Megan being jealous of each other leading to sexytimes. But keep the lovin' between Matt and Megan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#19 (Misery Loves Company)

Megan thinks Anoop's with Matt tonight, probably out to some jazz club Matt would have dragged him into, or in the Downtown area trying to convince tourists he's Kal Penn. Matt thinks Anoop's with Megan tonight, probably...staying in.

When they catch each other's eyes in the lounge they realize they've been stood up.

"Hey, weren't you -"

"Aren't you supposed to be -"

Then Matt remembers that groupie from outside the hotel earlier; Anoop had jokingly admitted he'd hit it, but he was starting to believe it wasn't much of a joke.

"Well, this fucking sucks." There's not much else to say but that: Matt could let a single tear roll down his cheek, Megan could scream and caw until her lungs ached the next morning, but it wasn't going to change the fact they had been dumped. Megan's more pouty than Matt, slouching over the curve of the lounge's baby grand, but he's hiding his disappointment in the piano keys, letting each note swallow a little bit of his sadness. He thinks, maybe I should be used to how this feels by now.

It's Megan who suggests they get some drinks from the hotel bar but it's Matt who pays for the first round. They're onto their fourth round by the time they figure out they're the _talent_ and they get to drink for free.

"Anoop would've known that," Matt's sullenness always comes out when he's drinking. He sits at the piano, the empty lounge resonating every note, the piano fully saturated with his sadness. Missing Anoop was filling the whole room.

Megan's a bit more animated after she's had a few, Matt found this out back in Los Angeles; it's when he decided that the terms "more animated" and "Megan Joy" shouldn't ever be in the same sentence. "Fuck him," she groans, empty glass tinkling against the piano. She doesn't mean her words--who does when they're lonely but not alone--but Matt lets her have them, Megan needs words like this to survive this night. "He's not worth our time. Plenty of fish, know what I mean? For the _both_ of us."

She says it like Matt's the jilted lover; his fingers miss a key, interrupt the entire song. He'd have to start over if he wants to continue to play. "I...we didn't -" He's stuttering for no good reason, because of all the people in Portland right now Megan Joy would know the boundaries of Matt and Anoop's friendship. "Boundaries", Matt thinks with regret, being the operative word.

But she lets it slide, either out of politeness or drunkenness, Matt doesn't know. She examines her empty glass with a frown. "I don't think these were iced teas," she says. She goes to the bar and gets another one, anyway, and when she comes back Matt's playing something slow, and charming, the notes blending into one another like a drawl. It reminds her of Anoop but she can't fathom why; she realizes later that it's only because it's Matt who's playing.

"Fuck him," she says again but the fight's gone out of her, deflated like a balloon; deflated like her own body, stretched across the piano like a shipwrecked survivor hanging onto driftwood. With her last bout of drunken energy she hoists herself up onto the body of the piano, head resting against her elbow, watching Matt concentrate on the keys and not on the lithe blond splayed across his piano, or his own thoughts. It's the stuff lounge pianists' wet dreams are made of, but he's not dreaming, not now.

"Thought that was your job, sister." He doesn't look up to see the flash of hurt cross her face, because that's no longer going to be a concern of hers. He doesn't look up because it's in his eyes that it was never a concern of his, though he wanted it to be. The bartender's shouting for last call, and Matt could really go for another, really get himself good and plastered so he can't remember this heart to heart, can't remember he's playing the passive-aggressive game with Megan only because he envies her.

The words wouldn't have come out if not for that fifth drink; she hopes she won't feel it in the morning. "And here I thought you were vying for the position," she murmurs, inching herself up o the piano, fingers curling around the edge, peering at Matt's hands, asking to be invited onto the keys. He doesn't oblige, not after what she's said; his hands reach a dark note, a minor key, and the sudden change startled Megan, almost enough to roll her off the piano entirely. He would have felt terrible about it, would certainly have apologized once he was sober, but he's _not_ sober, and she's still looking at him with eyes that say she _knows_ , and he just wants those words taken back.

Megan doesn't take them back.

"I've lost him," she bemoans, rolling onto her back, her hair cascading over the keys; white and black and blond, and Matt's fingers work a nimble chord to avoid getting tangled in all the color. " _You've_ lost him."

"I never had him," he shoots back before realizing what he's done. He could curse Megan Joy if not for looking up, if not for meeting her eyes and seeing a sadness there so naked and true it stops him from playing out of shock. They stay there, still as statues, their eyes locked in a mutual understanding of rejection; she's as exposed as he is hidden, her emotions splayed out before him like her body against that piano. Anoop would break in and say the whole thing was poetic in some way.

_Fuck him._

"But you wanted him." Her voice is a whisper, her head hanging over the edge of the piano, barely grazing middle C. "You still want him; probably banking on waiting out whatever we had." Megan's breasts--pretty and pert, and the first thing Anoop had noticed about the blond--peek through the top of her shirt, giving only a taste, like some awful cheesecake pinup, except that she's in boyshorts and a ratty old tank top, and that she's Anoop's woman. _Was._

He finds himself rising to a standing position, in more ways than one; he's leaning over without being conscious of it at all, until their heads are bowed together, like co-conspirators. "And what if I did?" They're speaking carefully now, the past tense creeping up on them like the hours in the night. The bartender's gone and the lounge is empty; even the security guards have drifted away, the inanity of babysitting two drunk Idols breaking them down.

Their faces are inches away when Megan lets out a giggle that seals their fate. "Wanna fuck him by proxy?"

Matt doesn't even know what the fuck that means, it might even just be the alcohol talking but Megan's using words that Anoop throws out there when he wants to remind people he actually stayed awake during college and fuck, that's good enough for him right now. Their lips crush together awkwardly, like they weren't meant to fit together, would never match perfectly but for tonight it's all they need. Megan's the forward one of the pair, Matt should have guessed all this when she brought up the proposition in the first place, and her tongue snakes into his mouth, exploring, claiming, being every bit the little woman filled with fire Anoop tried to boast about while Matt held his hands over his ears, only half joking.

It's a battle of wills when their arms wrap around each other; Megan gives a sharp tug, her palms molded against Matt's shoulderblades, trying to urge him onto the piano with her, but Matt's arms around her waist request her presence off of the pianotop. Whatever common sense remains between them wins out: lithe, nimble Megan fits squarely onto a baby grand, a seductive songbird to Matt's crooner, but there'd be a hefty damages bill and quite a bit of explaining to do if Matt attempted to join her up there. Megan relinquishes when Matt rakes teeth down her neck, licking a trail down to her collarbone and exploring expanses of skin with his lips that Anoop never bothered to consider. He lifts her up off the piano, remarking to himself how light she felt in his arms, and wondering if he'd ever get a chance to use that to his advantage in the future.

He settles back down on the piano bench but this time with a Megan Joy in his lap; her legs wrap around his waist like an imperfect fit, but neither one cares. Their hands are up and under each other's shirts, Matt palming her breasts and feeling her nipples perk at his ministrations, the soft flesh definitely not what he had ever planned to touch. Megan makes a noise in her throat like a squeak, and Matt barely has time to register it before both their shirts are on the floor; he's lucky his is still in one piece. Another moment, another high, needy moan from Megan, and she's stripped off her shorts and dragged Matt's pants down to his knees, and Matt's thankful he's got that condom in his wallet he never thought he'd actually use. Anoop was the one who suggested it, claiming one never knew when they'd be in an emergency. The irony hits Matt so hard he bucks up off the piano bench as Megan's rolling it onto his cock; bucks up _into_ her, and damn if this night wasn't awkward enough.

It's startling but not altogether unpleasant; Megan likes surprises when they don't involve the man you've been sleeping with ditching you on the eve of a three-month tour. A startled gasp gives way to a throaty moan, arching her back and pressing Matt deeper inside her, hungry for someone's touch, for _anything_. Matt echoes the moan in his own throat, mouth latching to one of her nipples as Megan begins to move against him, bracing her calves on the bench on either side of him, allowing gravity and will to plunge him in deep before retreating.

He's been with women before, has gotten rather fond of their warm, soft skin and bodies already wet and waiting for him by the time he arrives. But, he considers as he takes over, hands running down to Megan's hips and speeding their thrusts together, he's never been with a woman who has also been with Anoop, though the other man joked about sharing a Devil's Threesome back in Hollywood and Matt laughed less than jokingly. It's strange and thrilling at the same time, his cock thrusting into a pussy Anoop has been in before, possibly even fucked Megan the way Matt was fucking her now. He shouldn't be thinking of it that way, shouldn't have had anything else on his mind besides the amazing way Megan feels above him, all around him, how her walls feel tighter, wetter as they envelop him as she begins to keen.

But he does, he imagines Anoop in his position--dark, olive-toned hands holding Megan's hips down instead of his own, Anoop's mouth against Megan's flesh, his cock buried inside her, and it's just enough to bring Matt over the edge. He kisses her as he comes, their lips muffling each other's moans as he feels her walls clench around him, her body shaking in orgasm. She's surprised they didn't tip the piano bench over; he's left wondering if she was thinking about Anoop when she came as well.

"We don't need him," she whispers, caressing Matt's face, wishing it were someone else; _Matt_ wishing it were someone else. The earnest tones of her voice give away she's trying to convince herself; Matt can't tell if it's working, but it sure ain't convincing him. "We don't need him."


End file.
